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Easter- Lili^^se ^ 

By Mrs. A. A.^McKay 


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A Quaint Little Story 
An Easter Offering 



The Peter Paul Book Company 
Buffalo . . . 1896 


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Easter-Lilies. 


THE STORY OF A CHILD. 

^HE high, narrow window, which opened back 
y ^ on hinges let a bit of heaven into the dreary 
^ ^ little room. This curtainless window always 

- ^ gave the two dwellers there, as in a tiny setting, 

glimpses of heaven — storm-cast or cloudless, moonlit 
or starlit — a picture which they watched as the one rare 
thing in their shabby, shut-in home high up under 
the roof 

Little Efifie, in happier times, as the twilight fell, and 
her mother was gone to take the shirts, used to climb 
to the high casement, and from her perilous perch on 
the narrow sill — fearless as any wild bird alighted there 
— watch the lamps far down below come out over the 
city. And then with eyes turned upward, fascinated 
by the millions of upper lights in the wide, blue dome 
above, sit wondering in childish awe at the vast height 
with its glory of stars. Or, with steadfast gaze turned 
outward along the far, dim horizon, search for the 
shining ship with its golden sails, which she was sure 
would bring her father back to them out of the deep. 

This morning the narrow patch of blue in its dingy 
setting was divinely fair, with now and then a fleecy 
cloud floating across it. 


5 


The invalid had begged little Effie to throw the case- 
ment open and let in the air. 

“ Open it wide, dear, as wide as you can get it,” she 
had feebly implored, her large sunken eyes fixed on the 
little heartsick nurse with such a look, that though 
the hands which had been so hot were now cold and 
clammy, and her fears made the child’s knees tremble 
under her — for there had been a dash of rain in the 
early morning — she sprang to do her mother’s bidding. 

“ That is sweet,” came weakly, but with infinite satis- 
faction from the bed; and the poor emaciated creature 
lay and drank in the fresh humid breath of early spring, 
as it swelled into the little room, inflating and sweetening 
its heavy, feverish odors. 

Then she went on in a wandering, half conscious 
way, her voice heavenly sweet to the little watcher who 
was close beside the bed again : 

“ It must be near Easter. I wonder if the lilies, tall 
and slim, in the old garden are peeping over the wall — 
sweet, white faces all in a row — looking for Elizabeth 
and me — their ‘sister-lilies’ Jamie used to say. Who 
will gather them this Easter-tide? Jamie’s not come — 
and we cannot get to the old place — little Effie and I.” 

The child’s heart of late had a way of stopping for a 
brief moment or two, and then bounding up with a great 
throb leaving her with a dizzy, far-away feeling. It had 
just served her this trick, and the weak voice sounded 
miles away. “ Elizabeth and I used to gather baskets 
full of them, rain or shine — little we cared, so joyous 


6 


and glad were we that the Easter-time was come — we 
loved the dash of rain in our flushed faces as we ran 
across the village-green and burst into the old chapel 
where all the youths and maidens were glorifying the 
grim chancel, and lighting up the pillars and galleries 
with clusters and garlands and festoons of flowers. 
Well we knew ours would be the loveliest of them all, 
for Jamie had brought the bulbs from over the seas 
when but a sailor lad, and we two over-fond girls had 
planted them, and nursed and sheltered them till they 
bloomed, Jamie said, like they bloomed over the sea.” 

Her hands were folded peacefully on her breast. A 
blissful hush fell on her. The memory of other days, 
the warm, soft air stirring in at the open window, the 
little patch of tender cerulean on which her sunken eyes 
were fixed, seemed to lull her. 

The child roused herself and hung over the bed. 
Again the feeble voice wandered on. 

''And Jamie was always there, for he managed to get 
anchored at our little seaport town, without fail at the 
Easter-time. He was so supple and so strong — full 
many a time he had swung to a spar in the stormiest 
ocean — that none but his good arm must hang the high 
garlands ; wrapping them up about the pillars, and 
looping them from beam to beam — laughing and gay, 
with now and then a cheery word down. And sweet 
Elizabeth — she would answer back and smile, but I 
would never a look, though I knew his kind eyes were 
seeking down for an upward glance from the ones he 


called ^the sweetest eyes.’ I worried his patient soul 
from day to day and from time to time, till I could 
myself hold out no longer. One heavenly decoration 
time we stood at the door — the dim church lay behind 
us in its Easter garment of flowers” — she panted now 
and then for breath, a pale tint coming on the sunken 
cheek, a kind of ecstasy fluttering in the feeble tones. 

“The others had all gone — but Elizabeth had 
lingered behind for a few more chords of the glad hymn 
she was to give us on the morrow. It was dusk, and 
the old church looked like a dream of beauty in the 
dim light, and the odor of our lilies in the vast place 
was faint and sweet. We stood together waiting — Jamie 
and I only — the music — the place — the hour — the odors 
— I looked up in Jamie’s face — I was about to fly, but 
he gathered me close — close with his strong arm, and 
said : ‘ Effle, tomorrow you will be my bride,’ and I 
could no more have gainsaid him there than I could 
have stopped back the wild rush of love that made me 
hold my lips up for the first kiss he had ever offered 
me. And ‘ tomorrow,’ in the midst of the lilies, stand- 
ing about in their tall pitchers, and strewn on the altar- 
cloth and thick within the chancel rail, I was his happy 
bride.” 

The child was hanging over her, thrilled with the 
sweetness of the story. “ But child !” she suddenly 
cried out in a high, quavering key, starting the child’s 
heart back in terror, “ my sister, my bridesmaid,” her 
eyes agonized and wild, “ my sweet Elizabeth — in robes 


8 


like mine, and some said fairer than I — lay amongst the 
lilies, fallen prone before the 'Amen ’ was said.” 

A moment she panted, and then with anguished 
longing she gazed up in the child’s face and said : 

“ Efifie, my little girl, can you not get me some 
Easter-lilies ? I will do without the broth.” O, the 
pathos of it ! 

All night long she had pleaded for her lilies — start- 
ling the tired child by her side, awaking and alarming 
her, crying out : ” The hedge ! Where are my white 

darlings?” and moaning, “the resurrection morn and 
no lilies !” And little Efifie, wide awake at last — fright- 
ened and trembling and palpitating — was pondering 
and yearning over the question. Where in all that big 
city could she find her lilies ? Where ? Weak and 
longing over it — lying there almost shivering beside the 
hot, quick breathing. Where ? Smothering her sobs 
— her little heart almost bursting with it. Where? A 
want so simple and yet a problem so mighty for this 
child to solve. 

Dear little Efifie, heaven-inspired women had not yet 
instituted that sweet charity — flowers to the sick and 
afiflicted — which might have reached even you ! 

“ Efifie Connely ! Do you expect me to wait all day 
for you ? 

The shrill call startled the child into a frenzied haste. 

“ May I not close the window now, dearest mother?” 
she asked, with hurried and breathless entreaty. “ I 


9 


must go/’ She gazed with agonized scrutiny down in 
the half-closed eyes. 

“ Why should you shut it, sweet ? We always have 
the morning air, Elizabeth.” 

A low wail escaped the child. “ I have just wakened, 
and I am not half rested — the hill-side was so steep — 
but the berries were luscious. Jamie’s hands were like 
blood” — the child shivered — ‘^after I made him cap them. 
Patient soul, how worried he looked, but he never 
stopped till he had finished every one. And you were 
worried too, Elizabeth, sweet, I could see it in your 
eyes. But hark ! Is not that mother’s voice calling 
us ?” A vague, vacant smile hovered about the wan 
face. O, why must she leave her ! 

“ Efifie Connely, I’ll be off without ye in less than 
ten minits !” 

The child’s heart rose fiercely. She wished she might 
strike her little clenched fist across the mouth that sent 
the shrill call into the still room. 

But the threat nerved her. In desperate haste she 
fumbled under the bed, and half stooping, put on a pair 
of over-large shoes, tying them tightly about her flesh- 
less ankles — hot tears running down — hers were gone, 
and her tender bare feet might not get over the rough 
pavement fast enough for the relentless task-mistress 
who day after day urged her forward with words that 
stung like goads. 

“ What’s cum over ye, the last days ? It’s as much 
as it’s wuth to git ye along. D’ye think I’m goin’ ter 


10 


let ye stay up there doin’ nothin’, day in an’ day out, 
an’ me be satisfied with drivin' ye a half a mile ur more, 
jes' ter say ye’re payin’ yer rent a-marketin’ fur me? I’ll 
turn ye out — that’s what I’ll do — I’ve no notion uv 
puttin’ up with yere laz’ness. Git on ! Git on ! Move 

like ye’re got sum life in ye — and don’t drap that 

baskit.” 

The little arm almost breaking under its load, for 
Mrs. Sloan was a vender of food to her tenants, held 

bravely to its burden, but the tiny feet with their 

clumsy protection got along poorly. 

And Effie lagged sadly this morning. She was 
looking in all the windows — shabby, tawdry windows, 
not likely to be displaying fresh, grand Easter-lilies — 
but her eager, longing eyes searched them all. 

“ What air ye a-gapin’ in the winders fur ? How 
much money hev ye got ter spend ?” 

But the taunt did not trouble her. She did not care 
for the goads to-day. If only she might find the lilies ! 
She would beg for them, she would get on her knees for 
them — she would plead, she would implore — surely 
they would give a poor child — 

‘'Git on! Git on!” The goads did not sting this 
morning. All feeling seemed gone except the longing 
for the lilies. 

She trudged up the stairs — two flights — with her 
heavy burden. She put it down, and looking up in the 
hard old face bravely, made a plaintive appeal ; 


U 


'‘Mrs. Sloan, could I get Easter-lilies at a church?” 

“ Easter-lilies, indeed ! I fa’l’eve the gal’s gone stark 
crazy ! G’long up stairs an’ ten’ to yer proud, lazy 
mammy,” and she sent the child spinning across the 
floor. 

And now it was impossible for the child to drag her 
clogged feet up the steps — she was sure it was the shoes. 
She sat down to pull them off. Her heart was throb- 
bing wildly again after that first fierce bound and sick- 
ening stop when eveiyi:hing seemed miles away from 
her. She fumbled with the shoes — she broke the string 
and freed herself — she felt like flying to the little room 
up under the roof, away from the hard old woman 
beneath, and all the full big city below, where nothing 
was hers, — out of which she could get nothing for her 
sick mother — not even a bunch of lilies ! 

Passionate with grief, worn and exhausted, she 
climbed the long, steep stairways. 

The room was still as death. Her mother slept. 
Smothering a sob little Effie laid her face close beside 
the one on the pillow. 

She thought wearily that she ought to get herself 
something to eat ; but she was never hungry now. She 
had been at first, when the food gave out, and she could 
only buy a little, day by day, with the pennies which 
seemed to go so fast ; but now she did not care to eat. 

Only to find the lilies! this great longing swelled her 
heart almost to bursting — and to sleep and to rest — this 
was all the little soul yearned for now. 


12 


She roused herself and crept noiselessly up, closing 
the window — not before she had stood for a moment or 
two clinging to the narrow sill to steady herself, gazing 
down and out over the grand, full city, teeming with 
life and power — chimney and spire and dome steaming 
and glinting — motion and beauty everywhere — as she 
had seen it a hundred times from that one sweet spot in 
her poor world. She knew its beautiful streets, she 
knew its palaces, she knew its grand display windows — 
its fruits and its flowers — and she knew there was nothing 
there for her ! She gazed up in the wide expanse of 
dazzling blue with its midday sun blazing down in her 
face, blinding her with its splendor and light. Were the 
tall Easter-lilies blooming under it in the little seaport 
town?” 

Miserable and dizzy and heartsick she climbed down, 
and went back and laid herself again beside the sleeping 
mother, putting her poor little face still closer to the 
one on the pillow. 

Hours after she started up frightened to find the 
twilight in the room. 

A sudden great hope flashed up as the mother opened 
her eyes and said : 

My little one, I had such a sweet dream while we 
slept;” her voice was stronger than it had been for days, 
I thought the windov/ was open, and I lay and drank 
in deep draughts of spring air, like the breath of an 
Easter morn ; and it seemed that I was back in the 


13 


little .^eaport town, home again, gathering lilies with 
Elizabeth, for — ” 

She stopped suddenly and was in a deep sleep, breath- 
ing heavily. Almost as suddenly she roused again, 
and turning herself, said imperatively, as if there must 
be no further delay : 

“ Child, go gather my lilies. Place the stand — fill 
the tall china pot full of the long stalks with the white 
faces bending above — and fill my hands full — fidl like 
I filled Elizabeth' s!' An electric thrill went through 
the child. “ She looked so calm and happy, but now 
/ know that her heart broke that morning in the old 
chapel when I was his happy — She gasped for breath, 
she raised herself on the pillow. 

“ Open, Effie — open it wide! Do you not see that 
I am dying for air! Open — and — bring — me — my 
— lilies.” It was a whisper — but a trumpet call to the 
child. • 

She sprang to the wooden chair. Tottering she 
fumbled for the latch — then she flung the casement 
wide. 

And she did not once glance down where the grand 
full moon had just come up, immense and pale golden, 
far out over the houses, nor up at the early stars that 
looked down in her little terror-stricken face, and alas, 
for the ship with the golden sails ! She staid not a 
moment, only to stoop and grope for the shoes, but she 
put them quickly back again, and went swiftly out of 
the room. 


14 


She sped down the steps. A ghastly instinct told 
her that a merciless phantom was hurrying her, which 
delayed not for love’s fleetest messengers to do their 
swiftest missions. 

Down five flights of steps ! Winged with fright and 
hope — out into the night — borne along by a mighty 
desire to answer that last appeal. 

Even in those poor quarters signs of holiday cheer 
greeted her, but she sped by the detaining hand of some 
comrade, who would have swung her into the circle, 
and breaking frantically away fled along the uneven 
pavement. As she got further up into the city she went 
even more swiftly, the pavements smoother, the lights 
from the windows brilliant. She reached a lofty build- 
ing, spire and dome far up tipped with moonlight. Tall 
stained windows aglow with light. 

“Christ is risen! Christ is risen!” The grand peal 
of music died away. 

The door stood open, some one was coming out. 
The child ran up the steps, and without pausing a 
moment, went swiftly in. The astonished woman who 
was passing out, turned and slowly went back into the 
church, and stood in a kind of awe, looking and listening. 

Those decorating the church, startled, turned too, 
looking and listening. 

The child had flown up the aisle, and was standing, 
panting and almost breathless, her rapturous gaze fixed 
on lilies! Great waxen Easter-lilies! 


15 


She laid her poor little hands on her wildly-beating 
heart — she tried to speak — once — twice — thrice — and 
then God gave her voice for her petition. 

Give me lilies ! Grand and beautiful ladies, give 
me lilies ! O, haste — a whole armful — for the stand, and 
to fill her sweet hands ! ” The plaintive wail went 
through the church. This was no acting, nor yet the 
craze of an over-excited child. The women gazed and 
stood speechless. 

“ Lilies ! Beautiful ladies, give me lilies ! Easter- 
lilies !” The mighty pathos of hum'an woe smote them. 
Hurriedly, eagerly they filled her trembling, outstretched 
arms with superb bunches of the flowers she begged. 
The sallow, wan face looking thinner and more pinched 
by contrast with the healthy, white-faced beauties. 

“ And now she’ll have them ! ” Her rapture thrilled 
them, “ she’s called for them the night through, but we 
had no money — and I — did not know where to find 
them ! Thank you, sweet ladies !” Her gratitude brought 
tears. 

She went again like a wraith, down the aisle. 

Suspicious as it had seemed awhile before — the little 
flying figure with its wild strained face, shabby garments 
and bare head — more suspicious still now, the same 
figure with the grand cluster of lilies hugged to its 
bosom, in desperate haste to get over the distance, only 
pausing now and then in dire necessity for breath. But 
no one stopped her. 


16 


The children still making merry in the soft evening 
air and silvery moonlight, — stood back suddenly still, 
as they saw the child returning with her strange burden 
of gleaming, odorous flowers ; and they let her pass — 
never plucking at one of them as they swayed and 
nodded about the little set face with its distended eyes 
and thin, parted lips. 

When she reached the five-story tenement house the 
child stopped, utterly dismayed before the stupendous 
old pile. It had never loomed up so before. It had 
never towered so awfully toward heaven before ! As she 
gazed helplessly up, panting and palpitating, and quiver- 
ing in every limb, it seemed to touch the gay stars that 
flashed above it — which had always looked so far away 
from her out of the little window high up there under 
the roof 

The phantom hurried her in. The steps! Dizzy and 
confused, her knees smote under her — how should she 
ever reach that little room close up under the stars ? 

The phantom hurried her . on. One flight — two 
flights — wearily toiling. The long corridors seemed 
uneven, and to give way beneath her feet — she stumbled 
almost headlong to the floor, but recovering herself with 
a mighty effort, struggled on. 

The steps again ! Up and up she toiled — the breath 
of the lilies dandling about her distended nostrils making 
a deathly sickness — but she hugged them the closer to 
her bursting heart. 


17 


Only one flight more. Something lent wings to the 
sinking frame — and suddenly she seemed borne to the 
top and into the little room. 

The moonlight down through the wide-open window 
made a silvery radiance along the bed, and on the straight 
motionless lines along the cover, and over the still face 
lying so placidly on the pillow. 

One agonized glance— and then, as the child stood 
beside the bed, the angels of God opened Heaven for 
her. 

The small, thin hands relaxed ; the poor little arms 
fell apart — their freightage of love unladen on the 
mother’s breast— and the tired child sank to rest, her 
head pillowed among the lilies. 

So the old, hard woman found her on that gloriously 
bright anniversaj;y of the Resurrection Morn, while the 
bells were chiming over the city, pealing for glad worship 
and thanksgiving, when, after calling in vain, angry and 
vengeful, she stood on the threshold. 

Dead! Two white, emaciated, still faces. Grand 
Easter-lilies adorning the bed, their odor arising lik^ 
incense. And down through the narrow window, the 
all-illuminating sun pouring a light divine. 


The End. 


18 

3477-211 
12-17 
StyXe P 



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